Dear Dad, Do You Know That Stepmother Is A Devil?1
My mom was a ghost.
She had been by my side for fifteen years.
Once again, she started crying and wailing, “They’re only being nice to you because they want to turn you into your stepmother’s backup blood supply!”
I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, I wasn’t as naive as you!”
She looked shocked. “You… you can see me?”
I nodded, and her eyes widened even more.
I watched as my dad slapped my stepmother hard, twice, and yelled, “Go donate blood for my daughter, right now!”
——
When I was fifteen, I won a national gold medal for my essay.
I ran back to the villa, waving the magazine and excitedly calling out for my parents.
A woman floated beside me, circling in excitement.
But when she read the essay, she suddenly burst into tears.
“Sienna, you foolish child, wake up!”
“They’re only being nice to you because they want to turn you into your stepmother’s backup blood supply, so they can drain you whenever she needs it!”
Her anger was so intense it almost messed up my hair.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, stop it!”
“You really think I’m as naive as you?”
She looked stunned. “You… you can see me?”
I just smiled and threw myself into my dad’s arms as he stood waiting at the door.
My stepmother smiled sweetly beside him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Sienna, you’re amazing! Your dad should reward you properly!”
“How about giving you the ‘Tears of Love’?”
I quickly waved my hands. “Oh no, I couldn’t!”
“That’s the keepsake Dad gave you. You never even wear it!”
My words hit a nerve, and she could only force a smile.
But my dad beamed. “Sure, you can wear it for your next piano performance. It’ll look perfect with your dress!”
My stepmother’s hand, which was peeling an apple, froze for a moment, and she struggled to keep her composure.
I skipped back to my room, eagerly putting on the ‘Tears of Love.’ The smooth white pearls were delicately accented with red agate, like snow and red beans, love and longing.
I styled my hair just right and slipped into a long white gown.
In the mirror, I looked just like my mother, who died in the delivery room.
It took my dad a moment to snap out of it, and then he awkwardly changed the subject.
“So, what was your award-winning essay about?”
I pretended not to notice my stepmother’s hateful glare as I walked over to her with a big smile.